exhausted.
Lune said, ‘The two Archivists below you in the hierarchy, Heraber and Ciswadra, they will never hatch plots to become the new Reeve of Cray.’
Umia retorted, ‘How do you know?’
‘And what of Querhidwe?’ said Gaijin. ‘You, O Reeve, must do something about her Archive, or it will control your city.’
But Lune said, ‘Fear nothing from Selene. Fear only the plots of Gaijin, for she is a hater of human beings. And do not fear Gaya!’
‘Distrust Gaya,’ Gaijin said.
‘Embrace her,’ suggested Lune.
Umia stamped his foot. ‘I’ll never embrace her!’
CHAPTER 9
One day Subadwan had to visit the Water Purification House in Feverfew Street, on account of brown water trickling from taps and standpipes throughout the Archive. Having been told that the problem was due to glass fragments and dust choking the lower sewers of Westcity, and that she and all the other residents of upper Westcity would have to wait until Triader aquanauts cleared the tunnels, she found she could do nothing but return to the Archive. But she had half expected to get nowhere, since city pyuter networks had refused to connect her with the Water Purification House. As she passed through the Blistered Quarter she saw some houses half-plastic half-glass, patchworks of darkness and twinkling light set with polythene bricks chewed by silicon grubs. Street cables, some of which she had to swing aside to pass, were also succumbing to heat damage, and under these no outers lay. Where vitrification was bad it was often the case that pipes, cables, wires and tubes were twisted together and pegged to one side, out of danger, so that Subadwan had to crouch and slide to make progress. But the street was not only choked with cables: piles of white glass dust glittering with larger fragments lay everywhere, causing many citizens to don masks as well as their earmuffs.
Subadwan looked up into the sky. It was noon, yet dark. Through grimy air she could see the moon, an oval now with one triangular end. All around her stood awe-struck Crayans. They even gazed up from the crowded roofs of the city, braving the fantastic din there. Subadwan settled her earmuffs over her ears more comfortably and hurried on, the manic sparkling streets lighting her way, while, above, the independently moving twin searchlights of bats created shifting columns of sickly light.
The Archive grounds were thronging, bustling pedicians jumbled up with cloaked folk, lumods everywhere creating a kaleidoscope of light, the golden ground invisible. Subadwan had no alternative but to forge a way through, signing with impetuous hands, Make way. I am Archivist Subadwan. Make way for me.
Inside, the public chambers too were crowded, smelling of dust, sweat and pedician manure. Subadwan hurried upstairs to her own chamber, grabbing her clothes – blue gown and boots, with a sheaf of golden ribbons for her fuzzlocks – and putting them on. In front of a mirror she washed her face, clipped speech amplifiers to both ears, replaced the opal studs with blue sleepers, drank a shot of spearmint alcohol, then tied back stray fuzzlocks. Minutes later she was standing with Aquaitra on the podium of the public chamber, a great hall packed with three or four thousand people, Rhannan and Aswaque nearby.
Aquaitra sidled over to her. ‘Everything all right, ’Dwan?’
Subadwan nodded. This was not the time to mention the encounter with Tanglanah and Laspetosyne.
‘Rumours of trouble at Selene’s,’ Aquaitra said.
‘Trouble?’
‘Some ghastly creature’s muscled his way into the Archive, bullying the elder Archivists. Very strange.’
Subadwan grimaced, then nodded. ‘I heard something about that. A warrior with the head of a fish. Must be a pyuton mutant. Gaya save us from such vermin–’
Rhannan held up her arms and signed to the crowd, Quiet.
Aswaque, at her side, signed, It is Gaya's time.
A twin detonation from the rear of the hall made the assembled laity gasp
Lune said, ‘The two Archivists below you in the hierarchy, Heraber and Ciswadra, they will never hatch plots to become the new Reeve of Cray.’
Umia retorted, ‘How do you know?’
‘And what of Querhidwe?’ said Gaijin. ‘You, O Reeve, must do something about her Archive, or it will control your city.’
But Lune said, ‘Fear nothing from Selene. Fear only the plots of Gaijin, for she is a hater of human beings. And do not fear Gaya!’
‘Distrust Gaya,’ Gaijin said.
‘Embrace her,’ suggested Lune.
Umia stamped his foot. ‘I’ll never embrace her!’
CHAPTER 9
One day Subadwan had to visit the Water Purification House in Feverfew Street, on account of brown water trickling from taps and standpipes throughout the Archive. Having been told that the problem was due to glass fragments and dust choking the lower sewers of Westcity, and that she and all the other residents of upper Westcity would have to wait until Triader aquanauts cleared the tunnels, she found she could do nothing but return to the Archive. But she had half expected to get nowhere, since city pyuter networks had refused to connect her with the Water Purification House. As she passed through the Blistered Quarter she saw some houses half-plastic half-glass, patchworks of darkness and twinkling light set with polythene bricks chewed by silicon grubs. Street cables, some of which she had to swing aside to pass, were also succumbing to heat damage, and under these no outers lay. Where vitrification was bad it was often the case that pipes, cables, wires and tubes were twisted together and pegged to one side, out of danger, so that Subadwan had to crouch and slide to make progress. But the street was not only choked with cables: piles of white glass dust glittering with larger fragments lay everywhere, causing many citizens to don masks as well as their earmuffs.
Subadwan looked up into the sky. It was noon, yet dark. Through grimy air she could see the moon, an oval now with one triangular end. All around her stood awe-struck Crayans. They even gazed up from the crowded roofs of the city, braving the fantastic din there. Subadwan settled her earmuffs over her ears more comfortably and hurried on, the manic sparkling streets lighting her way, while, above, the independently moving twin searchlights of bats created shifting columns of sickly light.
The Archive grounds were thronging, bustling pedicians jumbled up with cloaked folk, lumods everywhere creating a kaleidoscope of light, the golden ground invisible. Subadwan had no alternative but to forge a way through, signing with impetuous hands, Make way. I am Archivist Subadwan. Make way for me.
Inside, the public chambers too were crowded, smelling of dust, sweat and pedician manure. Subadwan hurried upstairs to her own chamber, grabbing her clothes – blue gown and boots, with a sheaf of golden ribbons for her fuzzlocks – and putting them on. In front of a mirror she washed her face, clipped speech amplifiers to both ears, replaced the opal studs with blue sleepers, drank a shot of spearmint alcohol, then tied back stray fuzzlocks. Minutes later she was standing with Aquaitra on the podium of the public chamber, a great hall packed with three or four thousand people, Rhannan and Aswaque nearby.
Aquaitra sidled over to her. ‘Everything all right, ’Dwan?’
Subadwan nodded. This was not the time to mention the encounter with Tanglanah and Laspetosyne.
‘Rumours of trouble at Selene’s,’ Aquaitra said.
‘Trouble?’
‘Some ghastly creature’s muscled his way into the Archive, bullying the elder Archivists. Very strange.’
Subadwan grimaced, then nodded. ‘I heard something about that. A warrior with the head of a fish. Must be a pyuton mutant. Gaya save us from such vermin–’
Rhannan held up her arms and signed to the crowd, Quiet.
Aswaque, at her side, signed, It is Gaya's time.
A twin detonation from the rear of the hall made the assembled laity gasp
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